


picket fence;

by thatbluebox



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, dumb and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbluebox/pseuds/thatbluebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first night he stays over, he makes pancakes at four am.  [ aka the domestic move-in fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	picket fence;

**Author's Note:**

> my skyeward secret santa christmas gift for my lovely girl, karolina! considerable amounts of fluff and next to no angst (which is new for me, if you can believe it). lil' bit of happiness for the dysfunctional couple and because its the holidays. merry christmas! c:

There are a few things you should know about dating a spy.

There's always a history. No spy comes into a relationship without skeletons in their closet, and in this special case, betrayal and a bucket load of weird, alien crap.

But really it's the little things. 

 

-

 

The first night he stays over, he makes pancakes at four am. 

Despite what you may think, this had been precluded by a debate over what constituted as 'real' maple syrup. Of course, it was following what would have been a very intimate night in the bedroom, if a certain low hanging lamp hadn't hit him in the eye. It's hard to bounce back after she's offering him an ice pack through a barely contained fit of laughter. 

"This is the first time a guy has ever made me breakfast." She remarks from her perch on the countertop. 

"Does this count as breakfast? I thought I was proving a point."

Skye scoffs.

"I know you're a super spy and all, but there's no way you can flip four pancakes all at once." 

He just shoots her that easy grin of his, the one that's just shy of his shit-eating smirk. 

 

The bastard does it. 

"Next time," He says casually, "Don't bet your netflix password."

 

-

 

Ward quickly learns Skye hates doing dishes. 

He learns this because every time there seems to be a big pile up after dinner, she'll innocently take out the battleship box, and suggest they play for kicks. When she says for 'kicks', she really means something else entirely, aka the person who washes. Now that he's spent more time at her place and they're past the phase where this might be strange asking of a 'guest', he just raises an eyebrow at her. 

"I know what you're doing, you know."

"Mmm, really." She says as she sets up the game.

"You're not being tactful at all."

Skye opens a bag of chips, her mouth dipped into a pout. "I have no idea what you could mean."

He continues to stare her down, while she pretends to be distracted by the instruction manual. 

"Your beginners luck won't last."

"Mmn,"

Pause.

"Fine, but if I win, you're coming to my place and cleaning all my silverware."

She turns to smile at him, and there is something pitying in her gaze. "Aw, Ward, that's sweet of you to remain so optimistic." 

One day he'll learn. 

 

In hindsight, however, Skye dries and he manages to soak her with the faucet for good measure.

-

 

He keeps leaving his socks.

That's really how it all starts, she realizes as the last of his boxes is being brought through the door. She looks inside one and can see his bizarrely large collection of board games, tactical 'work' gear, and chipped coffee mugs. It's a funny feeling, seeing it all lined up in boxes, bits and pieces of him. It feels like a lifetime ago that she had wanted nothing to do with him, to cut him out entirely. And here she is, accepting all his weird knick knacks into her own space. 

After months of going back and forth between apartments, his things start to end up all over her place. You'd think for a trained spy such as Grant Ward he'd keep better tabs on his stuff, you would be wrong. Then again, the more it happened, the more she realizes it was a sign he was getting perhaps a little too comfortable in their relationship. It sort of hits her that it's the same for her, when she thinks of her apartment as being the place with him waiting for her. Thus results in the increasing amount of times she finds his socks all over her place.  _How many pairs of socks do you own, Ward, honestly._ And that's really how it all starts to snowball. 

Weeks later, things started to get more serious. 

 

"Landlord still won't pick up," He says as he walks into the living room, aggressively tapping away at his phone. The heating has been off at his place for just over a week now, or perhaps more, but he hasn't been home enough to know. Skye watches him as he throws his leather jacket over her couch, pours himself a cup of coffee before heading towards her bedroom, and what she presumes the bathroom.

She doesn't voice that she knows most of it is a pretense; lets him complain about it and use it as an excuse to stay longer (the implication just hovering on: I just want to be near you.)Let him eat all her bananas and drink all of her coffee. Half amused, she smiles to herself as she hears him continue to ramble off in the bedroom. He emerges half a second later, wrangling out of his shirt, and gets his coffee mug to bring in with him. She appreciates the view, and he doesn't hide it. 

"You don't mind if I stay a couple more nights, do you?" He says casually, and she bites down the smile. 

"Yeah, sure. Jemma won't be over until Friday."

"Great," He moves back to the bedroom and she hears the shower running. There's a good two minutes before he pokes his head out, and he has that puppy dog innocence in his eyes that matches his ruffled hair; completely misleading. _You joining, yes or no?_

 

They notice it's getting ridiculous when she accidentally uses his tooth brush. Both their expressions is enough to send her into a fit of laughter, and if anyone can look forlorn at a bright green tooth brush, it's him. It's two days later when he leaves the bedroom bleary eyed, smelling like he rolled around in a rose garden, that she realizes something else has happened. He mumbles that he grabbed her perfume rather than his cologne, and she teases him about it for _days_. They call it even when he unashamedly admits to using her mouth wash, and he catches her wearing his shirt. 

 

It's funny the little things you start to notice when someone stays over for long periods of time: he truly does love board games, she kicks when she sleeps while he drools on occasion, and neither quite know how the food processor works. She likes ketchup with her eggs, he hates grapefruit flavoured anything, and her sunday mornings are sweatpants only. Additionally, your relationship seems to hold more meaning after you see each other greasy and in desperate need of a shower.

She was excited to discover he had any entire album of dogs on his phone, which he has yet to come up with a good excuse for. 

 

They're eating take out when it's brought up. The result of this entire snowballing journey they've been taking. It comes jokingly, after he admits to only having slept at his own place once that month. _You should be paying rent_ , she tells him offhand, _you might as well live here._

He looks at her without preamble, says _okay_.

Just like that.

 

"You want to move in?" She half whispers, bewildered.

His responding grin makes her stomach summersault. 

"If you'll let me." 

 

Skye has never quite lived with someone before, despite her relationship history. Nothing in her life has ever strayed from being temporary really, from her time at the orphanage and numerous foster homes, to her hacktavist days in her van. _How do you live in this thing,_  Miles had asked her one morning, and she had scoffed. Despite this, he had never asked her whether she'd like to live somewhere else, or more significantly, with him. Which she had always chalked up as being fine, her independence and van was just what she needed to survive. She'd proven to herself that she worked best alone, and god knows what living with another person, let alone a man, would do to her life. Even her time at SHIELD seemed to have always been in flux, which is best demonstrated by her literal one day as an official SHIELD agent before it went poof. And while Ward and her had practically been sharing her space for months, there's a difference between staying and living with her. A certain sense of permanence and commitment. Given their history, the meaning of home has always been a bit chaotic to her. 

 

"I've never lived with someone before."

"Neither have I." 

 _"_ Don't you want to think about it?"

"You don't want me to move in?"

"No, it's not that." She squirms, unsure how to voice what she's thinking. How to explain that while she's craved this sort of intimate commitment, it's still new and daunting. That it could ruin what they have already, and she's not quite ready to give that up yet. Not after all the pain they've managed to overcome. 

"Skye," He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulls her knees up onto his lap. "If I promise to make you breakfast every morning, can I move in with you?" 

He still remembers that.

"At four in the morning."

"At four thirty if you'd like."

"You're an idiot." 

 

 

Her apartment - correction - their apartment, feels suddenly tiny by the small invasion.

She doesn't realize she's been holding her breath until he rounds the corner and enters the apartment. He's carrying the last cardboard box, cheeks pink from the cold December wind. He catches her eye, and something warm blooms in her chest. Something she never quite understood before, but now is starting to finally realize it's something she's wanted all along. 

"I see you've done most of the work already," He comments dryly as he puts down the box. "Have you just been standing around staring this entire time?"

He's about to make another remark when he's caught off guard by her mouth on his. She wraps herself around him, pulling him in, and she can feel the chill radiating off of his skin. He blinks, momentarily startled, but before he can properly return it, she's pulled away with a coy smile. She plucks the box from him, lighter than she expected, and sidesteps away from him towards the living room. 

"Now who's staring?" 

His mouth curves into a devilish grin. "I can think of a few other things I could be doing." 

She raises and eyebrow in a challenge. 

 

All said and done, they don't end up unpacking until the next day.

 

-

There are a few things you should know about living with a spy.

It's the little things in the long run: the revolver next to her favourite pair of earrings, a spread of passports on the kitchen counter, the scolding when there is blood in the foyer. Their tiny apartment's den is a maze of documents, weapons and computers; her favourite perch the window sill where she can crack into government firewalls with her morning coffee. The side closet houses both his prized riffle and her most cherished side arm, right beside his winter coat and her ankle boots. You get those ugly monday mornings when the toast gets burnt, followed by a stream of curses and the restrained  _honey,_   _where is my gun?_

You know, little things. 

It should be said, however, that dating a spy is one thing.

 _But living with Grant Douglas Ward is another_. 

 

 


End file.
